It's insane how many times a week Danny views the short video footage of Ellie, our niece. And if you've been over at our home this past month, at some point you probably have seen the clip, ...twice. We took our XBox ("mod-ed", so basically our whole entertainment system) with us down to LA this past weekend, so my MOM saw Ellie too! Actually, it's cute. I think it's cute that Danny thinks Ellie is cute. Meeting her has profoundly affected Danny's innermost being. I'm sure he'll be a great uncle. And an even greater father one day.

Thanksgiving dinner was happenin' at the Park household. My mom and I cooked all day. She did most of the prep work for the turkey and a lot of cleaning. I just messed up the kitchen and cooked up a storm. It was nice.

I had some time to spend with my dad going last-minute shopping. I got to teach my mom the difference between "green beans" and "grean peas," because apparently the word for "bean" in Korean refers to the actual bean or pea inside the pod or stalk. So when I asked her to get grean beans for the casserole I was going to make, the picture on the green beans can confused her because they were green stalks. So, she got the cans of green peas, which had a picture of things that actually looked like beans to her. Anyways, after a long debate/discussion, and after recovering from my disappointment that everything wasn't perfect, I made a green pea casserole!

I helped my mom join Curves. I hung out with my brothers, which means either watching TV together or watching them play video games. The XBox was a hit with my brothers. Danny scored one point!

AND, before we began eating dinner, we all went around and shared a couple of things we're thankful for. How traditional and cheesy. And no one laughed. No one was sarcastic, although, one of my brothers tried to be, but I think the presence of my mother kept him on track. It was definitely memorable.

The Park family's first Thanksgiving feast. History in the making. My mom is usually out of the country during Thanksgiving time, but this year, I convinced her to come back to the USA during Thanksgiving so that we can cook together.

SO, Danny and I, my two brother, my parents, and my aunt will join forces and have dinner at the Buena Park home. We're having turkey, mashed potatoes, various side dishes (including one Korean side dish, jap chae), and dessert. I'm scared about the turkey. I'm using a recipe from allrecipes.com. If anyone has any tips for turkey roasting, please feel free to give them to me.

Some questions I have are: can I use chicken stock for the bottom of the roasting pan, instead of turkey stock? Do I have to have liquid on the bottom or not? Should I stuff the turkey with anything? Can I just not? I think everything else is pretty much taken care of. We'll see how Thanksgiving turns out this year.

I've been reading all about Desiree's adventures in New York City, and Penny's great enthusiasm about this place New York City. And I'm wondering, hm... what's the appeal? I've read all the highlights, and I live vicariously through the many wonderful descriptions. But what is it about New York that makes them and others talk about living in New York as such a separate dimension with mythical qualities?

Why can't I talk about Sunnyvale with this kind of passion? Highlights of living in Sunnyvale:

-all the stores closing at 8:00pm
-a Macy's department store located in a mall that is much more like a ghost town
-hardly any people walking around, ever
-everyone protected in their safe haven of a car, not having to interact with people if they don't want

It's just not a happenin' place, I'm realizing. Suburban life is way boring, compared to the glitz and glamour of city life. But here's the other realization. I love BORING. I love suburban life. It's what I know, and it's where I am, and it's probably where I'll be, if I had a choice in the matter. I don't think I would fare well in city life. My homebodiness would seem grossly disparate from the surrounding festivities, and would probably put a damp on all fun-lovers around me.

I think I'm being influenced by the recent book I'm reading: Tess of the D'urbervilles. Except Tess was a rural person who was afraid of town life and townspeople.

All this aside, I do want to visit New York City again. Big apple, hustle bustle, and all. I do have credit from Jetblue, from a trip I was supposed to take earlier this year.

Zits run in my family. It's more from the Yoon blood than the Park blood. There's no cure for acne, really. You can just treat it for the rest of your life. How sad. I went to the dermotologist for the first time in my life. After fourteen years of using topical creams such as Clearasil (which my mom still faithfully uses), I decided it's time to get some professional treatment.

Don't get me wrong. My acne is not that bad. I was lucky compared to my two brothers, who had to deal with a lot, and my mother, who went through depression in college as a result of bad acne. Me, I just go through sprinkles of white and blackheads all over my forehead and chin. And then periodically, a couple of deep, nasty, big ones will appear strategically and conveniently on very important days, such as weddings (including mine), and school picture days, to name a couple.

So anyways, I got some medicine that's supposed to clear up my skin. Check me out three months later.

"Mrs. Chai, do you know who my hero is?"

"Is it your mom?"

"Well, yes, one of them."

"How about your dad?"

"Uh-huh."

"And of course your sister!"

"Yes, and also there's one more."

"Who?"

"You."

Sniff. mmmmMMMMMMmmMMMmMMMMMMmmmMMMeeeeeeeeeEEEEEeeeeEEeeEE?

I'm ready for my day off on Thursday.

It was a perfectly normal Monday morning. We had just finished painting our Eygyptian tombs and were settling down for the day's Math lesson. Each table group was supposed to estimate the value of the base ten blocks that were placed on each table. All of a sudden, out of nowhere, a student from table 4 starts to vomit. All over her Math sheet and base ten blocks. The student is as shocked as the rest of the class. She stands up and vomits on the floor. Then I rush her over to the trashcan to finish off the vomit.

Needless to say, my week didn't start off fine and dandy. I got paint all over my BR pants, I had to evacuate the room for fear of having all other sixteen kids throwing up from the vomit, and therefore did not get to finish my base ten blocks Math lesson, and now my room smells like vomit. I get a whiff of it every now and then. Fabulous.